2010 Food Trends I'm Sick of

I'm thinking about somewhat expensive meals I've had out in trendy restaurants in 2010. I don't eat like that often, since I cook and tend to favor more traditional foods. But as much as I love grandma cooking I can't bury my head in the sand. There's a big culinary world outside my door, and I won't pretend it doesn't exist. Unfortunately I'm seeing quite a bit bandwagon hopping, brought on by the economic downturn. Something works for one place and it's immediately copied ad nauseum. I'm all for innovation from the very few who can be innovators; I can do without watered-down copycats. But they seem to be everywhere in one form or another. Here are some of their crimes I've noticed this year:

Asian fusion - When it happens organically we get brilliant things, like Vietnamese sandwiches, Japanese curries, Thai food, Korean tacos and Sriracha sauce. In the hands of inspired and talented chefs we get some of the top restaurants in the country, offering exciting flavors and signature dishes. But as a concept in less expert hands it leads to gimmicky, overpriced food. A recent example I suffered through was Asian fusion Southern BBQ soul food. Japanese pizza makes more sense to me, and that's not saying much.

"Gourmet" junk food - A good burger is a good thing, so don't make it a con job. Anyone who sources their meat well and treats it with respect can turn out a good burger. When restaurants start duping the gullible by throwing supposed Kobe beef into a meat grinder and charging high dollars for the destroyed result I'm going to take offense. Same goes for posh places offering "sliders" as appetizers. It's not cute; it's infantile. Don't mess with pizza, either. I have no problem paying over $20 for a pie with a perfect crust and top shelf ingredients lovingly fired in a wood burning oven. But charging that much for a so-so pizza just because someone decided to express themselves by piling it high with silly toppings? That's not only insulting your customers, you're insulting the very concept of pizza. Honest junk food made from good ingredients is a delicious indulgence. Tarting it up and trying to pass it off as fine food is a con job.

Pork belly - I love pork in all of its wonderful forms, belly included. I'm happy it made something of a comeback, and I'll indulge a few times a year. But I don't need to see it on every menu. It's getting a little tiresome.

Ridiculous portion sizes - If I want tapas, meze or dim sum I'll go to places that specialize in such. But if you're going to charge me $12 for three mini-tacos because your concept is "Mexican tapas" I'm going to call you a rip-off artist. Reasonable portions, please. This cuts both ways: if I order an appetizer and a main, and am too stuffed to do more than pick at the main there's a portion control issue, unless it's obvious that dishes were meant to be shared. Unless I'm there for a tasting menu I don't expect to waddle out of a restaurant in pain. And if I have to order four or five items to make a meal I expect there to be at least a vague correlation between the prices and the quality of what arrives at the table. Calling it "tapas" is not an excuse, unless what you serve is actually tapas.

Over salting - I'm not anti-anything, with the exception of low end commercially processed food. Fat is fine. Carbs are fine. Sugar is fine. Salt is fine, too. I expect restaurant food to be saltier than home cooking. When I go out for ramen I know I will consume twice the recommended daily salt intake in half an hour. But I don't expect to be unsure whether the burn in my mouth is from chili peppers or salt, which has happened in more than one popular NYC restaurant. I don't expect to go to a place famous for meticulously sourced ingredients prepared simply, only to find more than one dish nearly inedible because an unsure hand in the kitchen got too enthusiastic with the salt. Salt brings flavor to life, and an extra pinch improves simply prepared food. There is a point of diminishing return, though, and acknowledgment of it would be nice. I know making the food a little extra salty boosts wine sales, and I expect that from a wine bar. I prefer a little more restraint from a restaurant.

Cocktails with food - The fancy cocktail trend is well past its peak. I haven't heard the word "mixologist" in over a year, and I'm thankful for that. So I must voice my disapproval of those who try to prop up this waning fad by suggesting food/cocktail pairings. I'm sure that's great for people who don't like to taste their food, but for the rest of us the idea is laughable.

The "locavore movement" - Now that organic is nearly meaningless people need something to hold onto. So let's take a few things that make sense, such as eating seasonally and favoring locally produced foods, then build some misguided ethos out of it. No thanks. I have no plans to do without my coffee, wine, olive oil, citrus and spices, and have no desire to be part of any "movement". See you at the farmer's market.

Abuse of truffle oil - Oil is the poor man's way to get some truffle flavor into a dish. Yes, it can make your mashed potatoes ethereal, and turn a simple plate of grilled asparagus into a fine starter course. When did it become a commonplace thing, and should we be happy about it? I've only had real truffles a few times in my life, but the oil seems to be everywhere. I don't approve. It's kind of like passing off lumpfish roe as caviar, eating it often, then becoming jaded to the wonder of the real stuff. Or drinking so much prosecco in cans (yes, they sell it in cans) that you lose the ability to appreciate champagne. Hopefully the recent steep decline in truffle oil quality will return truffle flavor to the rare pleasure it once was. As tasty as they may be, a side of truffle fries sitting next to your $25 dollar hamburger is silliness. So is a $10 egg on toast flavored with the stuff. Enough already.

Wildly overpriced Mexican in NYC - I know that good inexpensive Mexican food in this town usually requires a trip to unfashionable neighborhoods. And I appreciate the handful of places that serve truly high end Mexican food. What I can't stand is places that are little more than mediocre taquerias, priced as if they were fine dining establishments because of their location in trendy neighborhoods and the fact that they pour top shelf tequila. I can practically hear the laughter from the left coast, and I'm ashamed for my fellow New Yorkers. This has got to stop.

My fear for 2011 - Sugar. In everything. Sweet sauces everywhere. Meat never served without a sweet wine reduction, a fruity sauce or some kind of sugary Asian fusion rub/dipping sauce. Wine lists will run in the opposite direction, moving toward flinty, mineral wines without a hint of residual sugar, making the sweet food completely unable to pair with anything on the list. And everyone who just graduated from waiting in line for Shake Shack will think it's wonderful.

Worth a Read: Luard's European Peasant Cookery

My buddy Richard Priest happens to be something of a polymath, in addition to being one of the best tour managers in the business (also business manager, aspiring producer and most recently, a welder). This man endures my endless talk of food with the patience of a saint, setting aside chunks of his precious downtime to join me for walks around Chinatown, where we seek out holes in the wall serving delicious meals for pocket change. His fluency in Mandarin gives him a better picture than I'll ever have of the goings on around us. (I have only a handful of sentences in Cantonese). Every now and then he honors me by being a guest at my table.

One such night Richard gifted my wife and me a copy of Elisabeth Luard's excellent book: European Peasant Cookery. This book is not breaking news. It was published in 1986. The recipes are for foods that are hundreds to thousands of years old, covering cuisine from Norway to Turkey. It's more than a collection of recipes - it is a great read. Luard can write, and chooses to preface most recipes with engaging descriptions of the land and the people, putting the recipes in cultural context. No surprise this woman has had over ten books published! This one is both inspiring for the cook and, I would guess, a pleasure for anyone interested in reading about food.

European Peasant Cookery provides the reader with a vibrant mental map of traditional cuisines across Europe. For me this not only brings back memories of meals I've had while traveling, but it adds new must tries to the list for future travels. Traditional food pairings are sketched out as well, which is great for those who appreciate thematic continuity at the table.

Then there are the recipes themselves: all bulletproof. Luard puts them in context, mentioning a few variations and common substitutions. By the time I set out to cook I don't even need to refer back to them; they seem as obvious as if I'd learned them from my grandmother. Sure, some of them are beyond the scope of what I plan on doing in my NYC apartment. As of yet I have no plan to cure my own ham or bacon, for example. Nor will I be making my own skyr (Icelandic farmer's cheese), though I wouldn't put that past my wife, who already makes her own buttermilk. Let's face it, cooking at home is much more enjoyable when you're inspired. And the recipes in this book cover so much ground it's easy to open to a random page and find inspiration. Lots of "I can do that" moments here, which lead to, in my case, casually deciding to make a Spanish (or Norwegian, or Greek, or German) meal. Luard even gives the reader a handle on the seasonality of the dishes.

Some future posts to this blog are bound to come from playing around with the recipes in European Peasant Cookery. It already inspired the fish stew post. (Lately I've been obsessed with fish - the first 90 pages of this book are on seafood, and they're becoming increasingly well-thumbed).

Germanic Salad in Buttermilk Dressing

I've traveled in the German-speaking world many times, often enjoying the food there more than I expected to. I expected the great brown breads, the good beer, wursts and schnitzel. But I loved being caught off guard by things like a sublime venison stew in Switzerland, outrageously good pork in Germany and the best pumpkin soup of my life in Austria. (Great wine in Austria as well). Of all the great things I've eaten in the German-speaking world, one that ended up in my own kitchen was one of the simplest: a composed salad with a dairy-based dressing (joghurt salatsauce). Variations of this salad can be found throughout Scandinavia as well. Easy to understand its popularity.

I first had this salad on tour with folksinger Rod Macdonald somewhere in Germany. Our bass player was a vegetarian, so large salads showed up at our table along with the meat dishes Rod and I ordered. They were often layered: cooked root veggies on the bottom (beets, potatoes), salad greens, then more veggies on top (cucumbers, tomatoes, radishes, sprouts, corn, celery - whatever was good and in season). The dressing was a vinaigrette, beefed up with a pinch of sugar, some yogurt, chopped capers and fresh herbs (usually dill). That's pretty easy, adaptable and substantial. In my kitchen it's the perfect accompaniment to the classic northern meal of buttered brown bread topped with cheese, cold cuts or smoked/pickled fish, with maybe a side of pickles. I'm married to a woman who makes that bread, and the weather in NYC is right for that kind of eating now. So I've been making this salad pretty often.

My version leans toward Austria, with pumpkin seed oil in the dressing and toasted pumpkin seeds as a garnish. I also use whole buttermilk in lieu of yogurt, because I'm more likely to have it on hand. (My wife uses it for baking). I'll sometimes leave the fresh dill out if I'm not feeling it. I did so in the above photo. Also, since summer veggies are out of season here in NYC I used a winter vegetable to top the salad - a beautiful mantanghong radish, which is sweet, mild and nutty tasting. They're worth seeking out.

(This recipe serves two)

For the salad:

1 potato, peeled and cubed
1 large beet, peeled and cubed
2 carrots, cut into 1 inch pieces
2 handfuls salad greens
vegetables to top salad (anything in season), cut into bite sized pieces
2 Tbs toasted pumpkin seeds (optional, to garnish)

For the dressing:

generous Tbs olive or toasted pumpkin seed oil
generous tsp white wine or sherry vinegar
1 tsp Dijon mustard
1 tsp capers, chopped
small clove garlic, chopped
1 Tbs fresh dill, chopped (optional)
1/2 tsp sugar
pinch white pepper (or more to taste)
2-3 Tbs plain yogurt or whole buttermilk

Stir dressing ingredients together in a small bowl. Set aside. Boil potato in a small pot. Boil carrot and beet in separate pot. When root vegetables are cooked drain, then fill pots with cold water to stop veggies from cooking further, bringing them to room temperature. After a few minutes drain again. Repeat if they're still hot. Arrange between two plates. Top plated root veggies with a handful of salad greens, then the seasonal veggies you're using. Spoon dressing over each salad, and sprinkle with pumpkin seeds.

Serve as a light meal with bread and butter, or as a starter course to a more elaborate meal.

Grandmom Pries' Turkey Noodle Soup

After Thanksgiving many families use the carcass from the turkey to make soup. There's no rocket science to this. A ten year old with a few minutes of training in knife skills could do it. It's not about technique; it's about feeding everybody still helping to clean the wreckage from the family get together on the day after.

I know my mother (seated just behind the poodle in the photo above) has a pot of this soup on her stove as I type this. But our family recipe has a twist that I have not seen in others: a large can of tomatoes added to the soup, which is then seasoned at the table with Worcestershire sauce. Just how this addition came to be is lost. When I asked my mother her reply was, "That's just the way my mother always made it." Her mother, Marie Pries (née McDaniel) is sadly long gone from us, and no one asked this woman who spent part of her young teen years working in Philadelphia's notorious mills just where the tomatoes in the turkey soup came from. Was it the depression-era ingenuity of a Irish mother of six stretching that carcass as far as she could to feed her family (also friends, neighbors and a spinster Irish immigrant they'd taken in)? Or had she picked up the idea from someone she knew? We'll never know. Are there others in the Philly area who do the same? I don't know anybody outside of my family who makes their turkey noodle soup this way.

But it's brilliant. It's absolutely brilliant. The slight acidic tang from the tomatoes against the earthiness of the turkey, set off by a few salty drops of familiar/exotic Worcestershire sauce? It's the best damned turkey soup I've ever had.

I'm now home from Thanksgiving dinner at my parents' place. Mom dutifully sent me away with a drumstick and part of a wing so I can make my own pot of soup. I will follow my grandmother's recipe, which is no recipe whatsoever - a few of these, a few of those, a pinch of this, a dash of that - exactly how I cook. And I like to think the spirit of the woman who spoiled a much younger me in the way only an indulgent grandmother can will be in my kitchen, savoring the smell of holiday leftovers transformed into a meal as worthy as the holiday meal itself. (I'm guessing she'd approve of my adding a sprig of fresh rosemary - Mom doesn't do it, but I can't resist).

Feel free to try this yourself, and, should you be so moved, raise a glass to the memory of a great woman, my grandmother, Marie Pries. This is her soup. And my mother's. And mine:

You'll need:

Turkey (carcass of holiday bird, or wings, or drumstick - whatever you have)
Onions, chopped (one or two for a small pot, more for a big one)
Celery ribs, chopped (same as above)
Carrots (as many as you want)
Canned tomatoes, broken by hand (big can for a big pot, small can for a small one)
Sprig fresh rosemary
Egg noodles, wide (figure about 1/4lb for every gallon of soup you make)
Salt and pepper, to taste.
Worcestershire sauce, to serve.

Let the amount of turkey determine how much soup you make. Two wings or a drumstick can make about a gallon of soup, which is a small pot. The whole carcass can make about four or five gallons (big pot). Throw all ingredients except noodles into pot. Add water to fill most of the way, cover and simmer for an hour. Use a slotted spoon to fish out all the bones (and what you can of the rosemary). Keep simmering, and add noodles. Stir every minute or two, to keep noodles from sticking until cooked, 6-10min, depending on noodles. Taste, and season with salt and pepper. Don't make it too salty, because you'll be adding a little Worcestershire sauce to the bowl when serving.

If you have some leftover meat, gravy or vegetables they can go into the pot as well. I remember my mother even using dehydrated vegetables from a little jar to beef it up some years. In the absence of a holiday bird I've made this soup with a couple turkey wings from the supermarket, and came out fine. You don't have to roast them, just throw them in the pot. This recipe is as easygoing as my grandmother was. It has been my pleasure to share it with you, Dear Reader.

(Thankfully, you can't see the state typing this has left me in - I'm practically reduced to grade school again, completely broken up over losing her).

Photo by Karen Bowersock Mahoney

Two Fish Stews

Say "fish stew" to most Americans and you're unlikely to get an enthusiastic response. Chowders and gumbos have gone mainstream, usually featuring shellfish. Francophiles drool over bouillabaisse. And that seems to be about where the love of fish stews ends in our culture, unless one is lucky enough to be of Portuguese descent and living on the New England coast. This is a shame. One need not be a fisherman to appreciate a simple fish stew - it's healthy, satisfying, and delicious, not to mention quick and easy to prepare.

My current favorites are based on a simple premise: onions and garlic sauteed in olive oil, to which you add wine and tomatoes, then finish by adding fish for a quick simmer. Here are two variations on this theme:

Italian Cod Stew

(Serves two)

3/4lb cod, cut into bite sized pieces (try to get all the bones out)
1 onion, chopped
3-5 cloves garlic, minced
olive oil
salt, pepper and chili pepper, to taste
glass of white wine
14.5 oz can whole tomatoes, broken up by hand, with liquid
handful of chopped flat-leaf parsley

Heat a heavy bottomed pot, and pour in enough olive oil to cover the bottom. Add onions, pinch of salt, chili and pepper. Saute until onions are nearly translucent. Add garlic and saute a minute or two more. Add tomatoes (with juice) and wine, and simmer gently for ten minutes. Add fish and parsley, and simmer for 2-3 minutes until fish is cooked. Serve with bread and salad (or greens sauteed in olive oil and garlic). The remainder of the bottle of wine goes with it, too, of course.


Basque Tuna Stew

As above, with the following modifications:

- Substitute tuna for cod. Since tuna is richer you might want to use less. Also, no need to blow the cash on the sushi grade stuff here. Traditionally, fishermen made this dish with the tail

- Add a chopped green bell pepper to the onions when you saute them

- Use red wine instead of white (Rioja is perfect). Don't raise an eyebrow about red wine with fish - tuna is practically meat

- Add two potatoes, peeled and cubed, when you add tomatoes and wine. Also add 1 tsp sweet paprika. Cover and simmer gently until potatoes are cooked, 15-20 min. Tuna goes in a few minutes before serving

- Leave out the parsley

(The picture is of the Basque version. You'll notice I added some carrots with the potatoes, for the hell of it. Worked fine). Photo by Cynthia Lamb

On Fussy Eaters

Just heard a bit on the Brian Lehrer Show about kids (and adults) being picky eaters. I have to admit to a character flaw when it comes to so-called picky eaters: I have absolutely zero patience for them. Eating with them actually makes me angry. I can't help but see them as killjoys.

And yes, it probably goes back to childhood...

Growing up, my sister and I happily ate anything mom put in front of us. Mom knew her way around the kitchen well enough that the family dinner was often one of the day's highlights. She was a picky eater herself, but willing to cook beyond her personal taste to please my more adventurous father. (She still cringes at the memory of the man feeding me pickled herring as I sat in the high chair). She had her limits, though: dad had to keep the Limburger cheese in the garage. The problem was my two younger siblings, who were very fussy as kids (not so as adults, and I love them both dearly). My sister and I would be scarfing down Lima beans, brussel sprouts and the like, while our younger siblings took the very existence of such foods as a personal affront. Mom, whose own dear father was what they called a "meat and potatoes" guy back in the day (what a euphemism!), bent over backwards to accommodate them.

And it drove me nuts.

First off, the person next to you saying, "Yuck!" and pushing their plate away throws a wet blanket over the whole meal. One of the nicer family moments of the day suddenly has to be all about them in a negative way? It didn't seem like a classy move, to me, even as a child. Then there was watching mom scramble to get something in front of them that they actually would eat. We were kids, not angels, and none of us (self included) showed our parents the kind of consideration that in retrospect we've come to know they deserved. Such is life, but having mom cook something else after she'd already prepared a meal seemed a little over the top to me. (Mom didn't seem to mind so much; she understood). From where I sat it looked like taking advantage of her. Finally there was a matter of self-interest. Mom started dumbing her cooking down for my fussy siblings. Dinners at the homes of Italian family friends made this clear. When we moved to Montreal and found ourselves surrounded by flavors from around the world it came into even higher relief. And it made me resentful - not so much toward my siblings, but at what they were doing to my mother's cooking. They were screwing with MY diet!

(Fortunately my then-fussy brother, who is now an arguably better cook than I am, led to the family to discovering Cantonese food right around that time. Even the fussiest of us were - and still are - powerless to resist).

By the time I was out on my own I sought out every bold exotic flavor I could find. Thankfully I have yet to grow out of this, and am married to a woman of equally adventurous tastes.

But I'm left with this character flaw. Whenever someone starts talking about what foods they do and do not eat it's like they're painting a target on themselves. I'm not talking about people with medical, religious or ethical prohibitions. I'm talking about people who have their little lists of Stuff They Don't Like and Refuse to Eat. To each his own, but I don't want to eat with such people. I'm not sure I even want to associate with them. Simply put, they test my otherwise reasonably well-developed tolerance. Understanding this is my issue, not theirs, is no help. I can barely contain the desire to strike out as they drain the joy away from a meal or even a conversation about food.

I've always considered food phobias to be psychological. They are also cultural. Many English and Americans have trouble with cilantro. They complain it tastes like soap, yet people who grew up eating the stuff rarely have a similar complaint. A current theory about this is that the developing brain categorizes items as food and non-food. The taste of cilantro is close enough to that of soap that someone who comes across the stuff after those categories have been established has to deal with their brain recoiling in horror over what it recognizes as eating soap! Research suggests the brain can be re-trained through desensitization, but for many that's more than they're willing to face. Understandable. Childhood is the time to prepare a person for a lifetime of good eating.

Many parents will point out the impossibility of this. Some kids are just fussy, and it's wrong to turn the dinner table into a battleground. I agree... sort of. It's obvious some people are more likely to be picky than others, but I think how those around them react to that determines whether they become someone with preferences or tyrants at the table. How much tyranny is acceptable IS a matter of culture. A friend told me a story that illustrates this point.

My friend is Irish. He grew up a meat and potatoes guy, just like my grandfather. That's perfectly acceptable there - it's practically the norm. (Many Irish consider rice exotic). His wife happens to be French. So when their families got together for a celebration in France, he noticed a vivid contrast between the French and Irish children at the table. The French children happily ate everything put in front of them, including snails, stinky cheeses and all manner of vegetables. The Irish children burst into tears at the sight of the meal, baffling their French in-laws.

He also noticed a difference in the reaction of the parents. The Irish parents had great trepidation over each food presented to their children. Whenever the kids turned their noses up at something they offered them an alternative, often frozen pizza. To be blunt, they expected their kids to be picky, were visibly anxious about it, then rewarded it with pizza. Most kids would trade a plate of veggies for pizza if they had the option. Hell, I would have, and I wasn't even a fussy eater. The French parents, on the other hand, presented foods to their children as "le bon this" and "le bon that." Something good and special the children were getting the chance to try. The parental expectation was clearly that the children would understand they were being given the chance to participate in something wonderful. Turning your nose up at something was unthinkable - this is a celebration, and everything here is something fine and special. The children behaved accordingly.

Perhaps this is simply a manifestation of my own lack of tolerance, but I think there's a lesson there. Kids test limits. A kid with the propensity toward being picky will use the dining table as a chance to test limits, if it occurs to them that's a option. How food is presented to them might just determine their view of opportunities along these lines. Even kids allowed to pass on specific dishes are unlikely to reject a Thanksgiving dinner. Why? Because it's presented to them as something special, wonderful and fine. They don't notice that the turkey is dry or the gravy is lumpy. Or if they do they eat it anyway, because it's special. And it's likely they'll grow up to be sentimental about it, regardless of grandma's cooking ability.

Every meal you have with your family is special. You can see to it that every dish on the table is wonderful and fine, even the simplest things. You can shape a child's perception of a meal. The French do it. So can you. I did it with stepsons eager to find new foods to reject. I couldn't work miracles, but those boys were thrilled to sit down to a plate of cabrito guisado because they knew damned well it was something wonderful, special and fine.

I have nieces who would disagree - they know What They Won't Eat. I've told them I disapprove, and they can keep it to themselves. If they want to be that way at home they're welcome to, but I'm not having any of it. They still excitedly come to visit, and fortunately we can all agree when it comes to Cantonese food. Seems to run in the family.

Kitchen Gizmos I Actually Use

There are tons of kitchen gizmos out there, and plenty of them are crap. I'm not kidding. Utter crap. Egg crackers (can't crack an egg?), garlic presses, electric can openers (really?), bread machines (automatically make supermarket style bread at home? I don't get it). I've spent much of my cooking life avoiding these things, but at 42 years old I've managed to collect a few gizmos that have proven useful... to me, at least. Living in a NYC apartment where storage and counter space are limited means I have to be ruthless about which ones make the cut. But it's surprising how many I have. It's almost embarrassing to admit how dependent I've become on the following:

Gaggia espresso machine & burr grinder: I finally buckled on this one when I managed to get the machine at a garage sale price. Too good a deal to pass up. I tried using both cheap coffee and a whirling blade grinder, but neither worked with it. The thing was sensitive enough to tell when I was trying to cut corners, and rewarded my efforts with lousy shots. Had to up my game, shelling out the bucks for the burr grinder and good coffee. The result? Espresso as good as a coffee shop at home, for about one-third the cost. Tough to argue with for a household that drinks eight shots a day, minimum. Quite a step up after years of drinking Cafe Bustelo made in an aluminum Bialetti machine. Yes, I've tried the Nespresso rig. It's good - easy and foolproof. But my Gaggia blows its doors off (when fed Counter Culture espresso), in spite of taking up quite a bit of counter real estate along with the burr grinder. Plus the idea of throwing away a plastic capsule after each shot I pull seems wasteful, and I can't stand that.

Pressure cooker: (AKA the WWII microwave). For 20 years I avoided this one, in spite of endorsements from friends and grandmothers who knew what they were talking about. Useless for braising, but fantastic for soups, curries and stews. (Even roasts, though they'll never turn out the same way as they would in the oven). Any long-simmering dish can be made in one-third the time or less in one of these things. It doesn't work miracles, but it allows one to casually make dishes on a weeknight that otherwise would require the kind of time most people only have on a weekend. I'm a convert, using the thing twice a week, sometimes more. Mine is gigantic, as I was advised: You can make a small meal in a big pressure cooker, but you can't make a large meal in a small one. I've cooked for 12 with it, even though most of the time I'm making dinner for two. Today's models have safety valves built into them, so you're not going to replicate those stories you've heard about blowing the lid off and hot food spraying everywhere.

Rice cooker: I'm happy to own the cheapest, meanest example of a rice cooker possible. The kind that was popular in Japan a generation ago, at least. The one that goes for under $25. I love it. Whenever I'm cooking Chinese I can let the rice cook itself while I prep and cook all the dishes. It does a good enough job that I use it for other times I need rice, including Latino and South Asian meals. Only useful if you eat white rice often. I do. Unapologetically.

Electric Griddle/Sandwich press: It's supposed to be an electric grill as well. I wouldn't know; I just use it to make panini and other pressed sandwiches. Pretty much only in the summer, but that's enough to justify the space the thing takes up. If you have a source for good bread and good stuff to put in it this thing allows one to make fancy sandwiches much cheaper (and better, once you figure out what you're doing) than going out for them. Current fave: coppa ham and cheese (Pawlet, from Vermont) on ciabatta bread. Pure indulgence, I know, but affordable indulgence. (My favorite kind).

Immersion blender: I've lived with one of these and without. With is better. It's good for smooth soups and pasta sauces, and if you get one with a powerful enough motor it can also be your food processor and blender. My wife bought one like that, in spite of our inability to find a good reason to give Wolfgang Puck's empire a penny. (His name is on it). Got it from overstock.com. I have no idea how it'll hold up under heavy use, but it takes less space than having an immersion blender, food processor and blender. So far it does all of those functions, in spite of its attachments seeming a little flimsy. Its motor is very powerful. And it was cheaper than replacing the food processor when it died.

Spice grinder: It's an old whirling blade coffee grinder dedicated to spices. Buying whole spices means they last longer. Grinding them as needed only takes a minute, and results in better flavor. Coming up with your own blends is fun. (Amazing how much coriander I go through doing that). I'd recommend this to anyone.

Kitchen radio: Laugh if you like, but my Tivoli Model Two brings me more pleasure in the kitchen than any other gadget. I like good sound in the kitchen. (A sound engineer friend swears by an old KLH, and the Tivoli is just the modern riff on that concept). And it has a small footprint. When radio programming fails me I just plug in a computer or mp3 player and I'm good to go. Can't cook without music. I love this thing.

What about other gizmos? Slow cookers (crock pots) make sense, in spite of most recipes for them sharing a determination to undermine their respectability. They're not for me, but I completely understand where their fans are coming from. If I worked a 9 to 5 job I'd probably have one. What else? I'm not nearly enough of a geek to get a sous vide setup (yet), but I can't argue with its cleverness or usefulness. I loathe microwave ovens, but they are useful for reheating leftovers and thawing frozen blocks of food (and not else, in my opinion). I have yet to throw mine away, although its days are numbered. Also, I'm married to a woman who happens to be a very good baker, and she's fond of her red Kitchen Aid mixer. I've never touched the thing, but it looks good and she gets use out of it. She's even using it to grind grain and roll oats. Currently we're without a toaster (or toaster-oven), which means our oven broiler gets used very inefficiently every now and then. We're not the kind of people who need toasted bread to start the day. If we were, the microwave would already be gone, and there'd be a toaster-oven in its place. If we had more room I'd get a salad spinner, too, because those things are useful. Just can't fit it in. Life in the Big City.

Oh, and we have a kitchen thermometer, because my wife prefers her meat med-rare, over my tendency is to serve it bleu. Now we can debate which temperature constitutes the right level of done-ness, self always advocating a lower number, her having none of it.